


A Study in Sepia

by kerning



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 09:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13854918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerning/pseuds/kerning
Summary: But Gerome is here, grounded and he’s home in every way he’d pinned that hope.





	A Study in Sepia

**Author's Note:**

> You watch part of an episode of Mad Men and here we are.

Inigo perched himself on the edge of the low desk, careful to leave Gerome’s paperwork undisturbed. Smile pasted on, he leaned closer, running a thumb against his neck with care to avoid wrinkling Gerome’s pressed collar. Back and forth. Five minutes ago, his secretary firmly shut the door behind her, and the sound echoed in his head. Though an unscheduled meeting, she never once interrupted yet today would be the day for her to start now.

  _We are alone._

Yet his leg jogged in a nervous tic so unlike him that Inigo silently locked the door. Head held low, Gerome kneaded at his own thighs, fabric rolling beneath his palms in tiny waves where his band glinted in the shadows.

“You should not have come.” With his heartbeat rapid fire, it slowed a modicum at Inigo’s hand braced against the desk, barren swatch of skin on his ring finger. “Why did you?”

“Concern, mostly.” Inigo tilted his chin up and Gerome met that imperious gaze unblinking. “Allow me this much, I’ll trespass no more.” Assessing his face with the same scrutiny a fine jeweler might examine gems, Inigo hummed in satisfactory approval, pressing a dry kiss to the side of his face only to murmur into his hair. “I thought perhaps you enjoyed the chase my love.” In spite of such a non-answer, at their inside joke Gerome smiled, small and hidden which Inigo returned in kind with his own, genuine, before placing a chaste kiss to the corner of his upturned mouth.

“Be more sensible then.” Hollow words. Something akin to electricity coursed up Gerome’s arms when he pushed back in the chair, the angle not so strange to kiss him, once, properly.

And Inigo sounded out the word sensible as if it were foreign concept before scoffing, peppering the line of his jaw with kisses. “I’m nothing if not stubborn.” Gerome’s blood ran hot at Inigo’s rakish grin, tempered by the affectionate pat of his tie, smoothing over invisible wrinkles as his attentions diverted elsewhere. To the ugly drab painting hung over the wood paneling then drifting to the ashtray on his desk. For clients. Whatever complaint died on his tongue as he took in the cheap gold frame next to it, expression crumpling as he cradled the photo in both hands. Gerome made practice of telling everyone at the office it was his favorite picture of the two of them. So many of his coworkers spent idle time making a turnstile of prettier temps while complaining about their wives, who probably were perfectly adequate women with rotten luck. “Luc?”

Prized horse dark as midnight behind them all, disembodied arm truncated from context wrapped around Gerome’s stiff shoulders and Lucina smiled at the camera underneath a ridiculous hat, frozen in time eight years ago. Inigo’s fingertips smudged the glass, tracing over dark gray hair the same shade of blue-black as his own in reality. Whatever Inigo came for was shuttered behind a preoccupied mind. That same arm took up his sham of a briefcase. Gerome’s mouth tingled for hours after that.

\---

At the end of the day, condensation eased from the tiles to his damp shoulders, wafts of steam curling around him. Inigo was downstairs, hunkered down behind their dusty typewriter where he’d been pecking at the keys since he returned home. Gerome for once had been grateful for that distraction, secret now crumpled in the back of a drawer. Prize held aloft, he expelled a plume of smoke to mingle with the steam of his bath. It eased his headache.

 _You better take care of him._ The last words she ever spoke to him. Lucina’s voice was every bit the concerned sister. He couldn’t imagine what she’d think of them today. Some small part of him craved her approval back then. She was an heir, nearly princess of a dynasty. Not that it mattered now, he’d left the racetrack far behind him. And its potential money and excess.

This train of thought ushered nothing but trouble.

Gerome flexed the fingers of his submerged hand, tips pruned from their extended stay. He’d nodded, of course he meant to look after Inigo, then remembered she couldn’t very well see that over the phone. If only he’d known then what magnitude her sporadic letters left in Inigo’s life.

As if thoughts summoned him, Inigo paused only a moment to take him in, knees a twin pair of islands, before stepping around the puddle of clothing he’d unceremoniously stripped onto the floor to yank open the window, the strain on its hinges accompanying a disparaging look. He’d smoked down to the filter to a stub.

After dinner, Gerome dried while Inigo washed the dishes. An ice cube clinking against a cheap glass tumbler as (decent) brandy pours over its amber film, a crossword puzzle. He was folding a damp tea towel to hang up to dry when he heard the first strains of music. Gerome gets as far as the drink before Inigo collected him from his solitude and into his arms. It’s a different kind of solace here, but no less healing, no less good. They dance in slow circles, stocking feet against wood floors, the few photos they have, together and framed; and the music pops, the chanteuse’s voice smoky in all the best ways skipping in the same places as before but he is here, grounded and he’s home in every way he’d pinned that hope.

The breeze fluttered curtains at their slightly ajar bedroom window, yet Gerome made love to him like this. Even in the blue-black light Gerome can see the pulse jumping in his neck. Front to back, Ingo’s face half pressed into the sheets,  then the pillows. In muffled quiet until he isn’t. Applying little pressure at all, little sounds emitting from his throat until his body shudders, reaching a mutual apotheosis. Inigo twisted in his loose grip to kiss him with a lazy gentleness; Gerome met him halfway.

**Author's Note:**

> Will I ever write anything where they don’t dance together? Probably not. Kudos and comments always welcome, thanks for reading!


End file.
